suffering the heat

It’s 96? It’s supposed to be 96. Degrees. Outside.

Does that confuse people on the other system? Probably not by now. People must hate the United States, for many reasons, but mainly for its overexposure. That’s not the correct use of that word, is it? For a Word Major, I’m awful at words.

You can’t watch a movie without being reminded of the United States. You can’t watch the news, either…again, for many reasons.

I hate the news.

Sometimes I feel like people who aren’t depressed are the real crazy ones. How could you watch the news—any news—and blink and shrug and go about your day? How can you just know that there is so much suffering—

This is why I have a problem with “God,” anyway. And this is so typical, I know, such originality coming from good ol’Introvert Playground. But again, again, again, how could a God allow so much suffering?

I hate knowing that one day I will get a papercut and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Life is full of papercuts, and bee stings, and stubbed toes, and broken hearts, and funerals, and shampoo in the eyes and splinters in the thumbs and dead people taking up all the slots on TV.

Television is suffering. Even the fake stuff, the shows and movies, they’re all about suffering. Even comedy is about suffering. It’s like we know we live in the gallows but only the depressed people feel like talking about the elephant in the room. And then everyone gets mad at them for doing so.

“What can be done? Just don’t think about it.”

Okay. I won’t think about the world. But can I think about myself, and all the disappointments I can’t prevent for myself? Failures, rejections, heartbreak?

How does any girl live past thirteen? She feels the pain of a menstrual cycle for the first time and is so happy. It’s the second month that it sinks in. It is going to hurt this bad for so-and-so days every month for forty years. It’s a prison sentence.

I feel trapped by my body. It is strange and alien to me, a vessel to hold my pain.

Scarves, Sweatshirts, and Loose-fitting Clothing

It is hot. Like, really hot. Like, “Can we please have class inside?” hot.

However, I am in the strange position of wearing scarves, sweatshirts, and loose-fitting clothing a grand majority of the time.

I recently made a post about wearing more professional clothing, which part of this follows. Tiny shorts, mini skirts, and tank tops are not even close to being professional, so the more modest clothing is okay. But, when I’m trudging to class, where some people are in pajamas and flip flops, there’s no need to dress like I’m doing something actually important.

Introverted doesn’t always mean insecure, and they may not even be related, but I am definitely both. These two things are huge driving forces to keep me tucked up in my room all the time–the exhaustion from too much social interaction, and the idea that I would be too awkward, too uncomfortable, too ugly while I’m there.

So, the clothing? With form-fitting clothes I’m always sucking in my tummy, making sure I’m not standing weird. I’d rather wear clothes that blur the outline of my body and spend my worrying energy on how my face and hair looks, or how my voice sounds.

Naturally, I’d rather not worry about anything at all, but the sad reality is that it’s hard to do that.

So I suffer in the heat to keep my head held a little higher.